Chapter 13
EMMELINE
Today has been the slowest day in the history of the world. Each minute lasted at least ninety seconds. At least that’s how it felt for me. I haven’t been on a date in years.
What was I thinking?
Why did I agree?
I’m insane. I wasn’t thinking. Planning a trip around the world would’ve been less stressful than going out with …
him. If a person hasn’t driven in years, they should start with a sedan, not a Ferrari—or a Lamborghini.
This guy seems like the Bugatti of men. What’s his horsepower?
I bet he fucks like a wild horse in the middle of mating season.
I clean my foggy bathroom mirror and stare at myself. “And what are you?”
A woman with a collection of sex toys who hasn’t been touched by a man in a very long time. Why did I impose a sex embargo? Having sex means dealing with people, and I’d rather not.
Em: Are women expected to have sex on the first date?
Laura: I knew it, you’re freaking out.
Em: Excuse me?
Laura: Don’t deny it, I lived with you for six years.
Em: Fine, I’m freaking out, and I have no idea what to wear. But my biggest worry is, am I expected to have sex?
Laura: No, you don’t need to but make sure to carry condoms in your purse.
Em: What should I wear?
Laura: What are you wearing?
Em: A towel.
Laura: God, you’re not ready at all. Grab a pair of jeans, a nice top and wear those killer boots you ordered last year.
Em: The Pradas or the Vuitton?
Laura: I hate you so much! One day I’m going to raid your closet and take every shoe you own and have never worn.
Em: Can we focus on me for a minute? What am I supposed to do? Are you aware that this man might be used to dating models and women who only eat lettuce?
Laura: You’re insane.
Em: He must date women like … Who is the hottest actress these days? I need to watch more ET and less Netflix.
Laura: Gal Gadot is hot.
Em: Yeah, like her. She’s poised and fun and … I’m just me.
Laura: You are you, and that’s enough. If he can’t see that, then move on to the next guy.
Em: This is it for the year. If he doesn’t work out, I’m retreating and planning ahead for next year’s date.
When I check my closet, I sigh. Everything is outdated. Maybe I should change my wardrobe? How can I be like those women who look perfect every day?
I don’t go to fancy places to get haircuts. I buy my clothes online. My clothes are comfortable-chic. Maybe I should try, Look Better Bitch. I know some of my client’s wives have a subscription. Only if I’m going to start dating. Am I going to start dating?
Concentrate!
I grab a pair of jeans, a black sweater, and Prada boots. Drying my hair takes a little longer than I want it to, but once I’m done getting ready, I’m happy with the results.
Laura: Are you still there?
Em: Yeah, I have to go.
Laura: What did you do with your hair?
Em: I dried it and left it wavy.
Laura: Do not wear a hat!
Laura: How about makeup?
Em: I kept it basic. Mascara, eyeshadow, foundation, blush, and lip gloss.
Laura: Good luck!
Em: I need a miracle, not luck.
As I drive along University Avenue, I keep repeating to myself that I’m powerful, unique, and beautiful.
Two truths and one lie. When I arrive at the cafe, I find a parking spot right in front of the it.
It’s either fate or my lucky day. I check myself in the rear-view mirror after I turn off the engine.
“Hair still looks good, lips too and … I forgot to put in contacts.” I exhale loudly. “Minus five points to the dork with purple frames.”
Against my better judgment, I get down to face the day. My gut clenches as I get closer to the cafe. Is he waiting for me? Maybe he already left.
Maybe he found somebody hotter while he was at Cherry Creek Mall. We’re only a few blocks away.
What happened to you, girl? You used to be confident. I take a big breath and concentrate on myself.
“Forget about it, forget about it, forget about it,” I say it three times and close my eyes briefly.
It’s like Beetlejuice. You exorcize him by saying his name three times.
“Hey, Emmeline.” I hear that deep, sexy as hell voice I can’t get out of my mind.
Jack is as perfect as I remember him. Maybe even more handsome. He’s easy on the eyes and has one of the most delicious smiles I’ve ever seen. And when he says my name, I feel as if heavenly music plays. It gives me a little courage to just be myself.
“Hi,” I greet him.
He leans closer to me and dusts a kiss on my cheek. A mad kaleidoscope of butterflies flutter in my belly. Why does he affect me so much?
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come. You didn’t sound sure about tonight,” he says. He is so close that I can feel his warm breath caressing my skin.
I suddenly feel wobbly and my throat goes dry when the scent of his aftershave and expensive cologne linger around us.
The only thing I can do is stare at his full lips and imagine how they kiss.
Slowly, deeply, and passionately. Then, I make the mistake of looking at his big hands. Because I want them all over me.
Well, to get more than a kiss, you have to start behaving like an adult and push away the insecurity. This isn’t your first date, and he might be hot, but you’re Emmeline fucking Lancaster. Get a grip, woman.
“My schedule can be complicated,” I explain vaguely feeling more like myself. Imagining he’s just an old friend I’m catching up with—and might want to kiss too.
“How are you?” I ask forgetting the crazy hammering of my heart.
“I’m doing well, thank you,” he responds looking at me. “I’m glad you came.”
“Well, you totally bulldozed me into coming today.” I say playfully, nudging his elbow.
Wait, did I just nudge him? Who am I? I don’t go around poking people—or hot men.
He gives me a quizzical look. “Come on, let me buy you a coffee to make it up to you.”
I shrug playfully. “I’m just kidding. No one can force me to do anything I don’t want to, but you didn’t give me much room to negotiate.”
“I heard it’s the best way to get things done,” he says with a smooth tone and winks at me. “What about that coffee?” A smile tugs at his lips.
He tilts his head toward the door and says, “After you, mademoiselle.”
The hostess seats us immediately. The cafe is small, with maybe twenty tables and a couple of booths on each of the walls. When I come here, it’s just to buy coffee and a few pastries to go. I’ve never stayed because they don’t have Wi-Fi.
Jack pulls out my chair. He’s a total gentleman, and though the hostess is salivating for him, his attention is fully on me.
It’s been a long time since a guy looked at me as if I were interesting.
Or maybe it’s the first time I noticed somebody watching me so intently.
Today, I’m not trying to be invisible. Usually, I like the anonymity.
It’s so much easier to just be myself and not have to depend on acceptance from others.
For a second, I’m transported to earlier today and my last conversation with Jackson Spearman. The man who is hiding in plain sight. We’re not so different from each other, are we?
But what is he hiding?
Or who is he hiding from?
“Are you okay?” Jack asks, scratching his jaw.
I stare at his handsome face and smile. Why am I thinking about someone unattainable when I have a chance to get to know this man?
“Sorry, I was thinking about work,” I respond trying to forget Spearman and his big secret.
“Any special case or just in general?”
I stare at him for a second and then laugh. He still thinks I’m a lawyer. “You already know some about me. What about you? I guessed you’re a financial investor.”
“I think you said, a ‘boring consultant,’” he corrects me, raking a hand through his thick hair which I imagine is soft.
Stop it right there, Emmeline. You don’t want to start panting in front of him just because you want to tangle your fingers in his hair as you yank the soft strands and kiss him hard. He’s a boring consultant. Not a fun guy who’d take you against the door or would bend you over his desk.
I should’ve never thought about my stupid client and how well he would fuck me if we knew each other.
There’s a rule somewhere on the Post-its I have on the walls that says, never fantasize about your clients.
Why’d I break it? Why am I even thinking about him and this guy? Would a three-some work for them?
“Am I right?” I say trying to forget the faceless well-built man and Jack doing dirty things to me. “Or maybe you own a pot dispensary. They’re big in this area.”
A rough laugh bursts from his belly. “At least you didn’t say lion tamer,” he says. “Unless, you know a pussy needing to be tamed.”
I laugh along with him. This time, we’re both laughing though my cheeks feel hot as I think of all the ways he could tame my needs.
He shakes his head. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“You look like a well-groomed businessman or a math whizz.” I have nothing more to say because I can only concentrate on his mouth and his hands.
Horny. I’m too horny to be on a date.
“I wouldn’t know about the well-groomed, but I confess I do like math,” he says.
“Does liking math mean you were taking advance trigonometry before your junior year of high school?”
“Are you judging me?” He narrows his gaze. “Because if I recall, you studied economics.”
“There’s a difference between loving math, and being forced into that degree,” I say defensively. “My parents made me breathe, eat, and dream math—and every other school subject.”
“That sounds painful.”
“By the age of three, I was able to count to a hundred—not that I knew what it meant. I played violin and piano because children who play music can learn math faster.”
“So, you could be playing with an orchestra?”
“Nah, I stopped when I was about fourteen,” I say.
I had too many after school activities I had to attend as well as volunteer work. Harvard wouldn’t accept me if I didn’t have a well-rounded curriculum.
“You haven’t told me much about yourself,” I turn the conversation back to him.